The Artist
by woodsgotwood
Summary: Dorian stops by Basil Hallward's for a visit, but Basil doesn't wants him to leave. Oneshot.


"Ah, what a pleasure it is to be seeing you again, Dorian!" cried the artist Basil Hallward. He had walked hastily down the stairs into the parlor to meet the young Mr. Gray. Once the servant had uttered the name of Dorian Gray, Basil Hallward's stomach had fluttered in the anticipation of seeing him once again.

"I can say the same, dear Basil," said the young man. He had not changed one bit, Basil noted. Still the same golden hair and youthful face that he was always enchanted to paint. He was still wearing his coat.

"Dorian, let my servant take your coat and please, come sit with me," insisted the artist.

"Ah, I do believe I cannot, Basil. I was on my way to Lady Dunning's house for a party - she insisted me to meet her granddaughter, you see - and I realized that I was terribly early. And you know what Harry says, he believes it to be awfully rude and terribly unfashionable. I'm hoping that the later I arrive the less I have to see of the dull people," he gave a small smile, "You must certainly understand, Basil. Although I have not seen you at many functions recently. No, I am merely stopping by for a visit, but it is sad to say that I must be leaving soon."

Basil Hallward sighed, "Oh, Dorian. You mustn't listen to a thing Harry says. He'll ruin you, you know."

Dorian's mouth gave a twitch, but still retained his smile. He gave a small chuckle, "You don't even know the half of it, Basil. I should take your advice, but it is very hard for me not to listen to him. Although most of the things that come out of his mouth make me cringe," replied Dorian.

Basil nodded gravely, "I understand what you mean, but I wish not to believe it. Would you like a cup of tea, Dorian? Anything in particular?"

"I don't think so, Basil. In fact, I should probably be going now if I do not wish to be late. Harry and I are going to the theater afterwards, if you would like to join us?"

Basil's heart sank, "No, Dorian, I don't believe I will. I am getting older, you see, and it's getting harder for me to stay out as long as I used to," he said nothing of the fact that he rarely went out in the first place. He sighed, "No, Dorian, go without me. But you must visit me more often, I get lonely here with just my art. Sure, my art is quite the distraction, but sometimes I long for human contact, you see," He gave a warm smile, "Are you sure you don't want a cup before you leave? It's still early."

Dorian looked at the clock and bit his lip, "It can't hurt," he said.

Basil smiled and rang for his servant. Soon enough Dorian had removed his coat and sat with Basil, drinking tea together. They caught up, for they hadn't seen each other in weeks. After Dorian had shared a scandalous story that Harry had told him, there was a lull in the conversation when they both sipped at their tea in silence. Basil found himself studying the young man, his eyes tracing down the elegant slope his nose to his pink lips, upturned slightly. No, he had not changed a bit since the last time he saw him.

"I wish you would sit for me for one last time, Dorian," he said, "I feel that my time with you as my model was cut dreadfully short. The last portrait I painted of you had to have been my best work. Nothing else I do now even compares."

Dorian stiffened at the mention of the painting, "I don't do that anymore, Basil, you know that," he said sharply. Basil looked down at his drink.

"I mean," said Dorian, "I just don't have to patience for it anymore. And I wouldn't want to bother you."

"You never bother me," said Basil.

Dorian bit his lip, his face conflicted, "I'm sorry, Basil, that I never come to see you. And for not sitting for you, I suppose. I've become restless since the last time I sat for you, you must know. I might even dare say that I've become bored with society. Of course, I would never tell that to anyone else besides you. Harry would find me dreadfully boring, I'm afraid. I don't think I could ever sit for someone ever again. I wouldn't want another portrait of me. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole of London declared it had enough of me."

There was a pause as Basil studied his face once more. He put his hand on top of Dorian's, caressing it. "I've heard some nasty rumors about you, Dorian..."

"Well, you musn't believe everything you hear," said Dorian, who took his hand away.

"I don't," said the artist, "I could never believe that someone as beautiful as you could ever do the terrible things some people have said you've done." Their faces were very close now. Basil did not breathe, believing that the moment would be lost. Dorian stared at the painter's lips, his expression unreadable. He looked like he was leaning in some, and Basil's heart pounded in his chest. But then the boy shook his head, and leaned back.

"I should be going."

Basil's heart sunk, but he nodded anyway. "Yes," he said, "I suppose you should." Dorian stood up and retrieved his coat, and Basil walked him over to the door.

"I promise I'll come and visit some other time," said Dorian with a weak smile. Basil did not believe him, but he smiled in return.

"I sure hope you do, Dorian. Now, go to that party, but promise me to not take to heart anything that Harry might say. Lord knows he's influenced you too much."

"I'm not sure if I can promise that, Basil."

He sighed, "At least try for me."

Dorian nodded, "I really should be going," he walked to the door. Basil followed him and held the door open for him. A draft blew in and ruffled Dorian's hair into his eyes. Basil smiled at the sight. After all these years, Dorian had still retained the youth-like beauty that had always made him so pleasing to look at and to paint. He pushed Dorian's hair out of his face and the young man turned away.

The sky was gray and somber. It was how Basil felt.

Basil watched as he walked away. He sighed and turned back to his house, wondering when Dorian Gray would ever return to him.


End file.
